The Case of the Missing Bodice Ripper
by OughtaKnowBetter
Summary: One shot, written with tongue firmly in cheek!


The Case of the Missing Bodice-Ripper

By someone who doesn't care to be associated with this disgraceful piece of gibberish

* * *

Obligatory Disclaimer: don't own them, and, considering the liberties taken with all parts of these characters except their names, neither does anyone else. You should be grateful.

* * *

"Don, watch out!" Charlie threw up his hands to ward off almost certain disaster, calculating swiftly that the chances for missing the staggering figure pinned in the headlights of the massive Suburban were approximately six point three to seven point two. 

"No sweat, Chuck," said Don, "for I am an expert FBI agent, trained in fourteen different ways to kill a man."

"Isn't that the description for James Bond, not the FBI? And how does being able to kill a man affect how you drive?"

"Makes me more deadly, Chuck. And with this tank, I can grind the evidence into the tarmac so that I don't get caught. Geez, are you sure that you're smart?" Don complained.

"I _know_ that I'm smart, because if you don't stop this monster truck right now you're going to hit that woman staggering in the road up ahead and then there won't be any story, _bro_. You want this thing to be over before the first commercial break?"

"You got a point," Don conceded, bringing the Suburban to a screeching halt, because a quiet halt wouldn't be half so dramatic.

The Eppes brothers leaped from the vehicle—merely clambering down from its two story high cab was unmanly—and hastened to the beautiful young woman who, by now, had collapsed onto the muddy road, adding a dirty yet dainty smudge to the side of her nose. The bodice to her gown was torn and tattered and showing more cleavage than was necessary. Neither Don nor Charlie minded the display, for Don was—as usual—unattached and Charlie was well aware that the majority of his viewers disliked his romance with Amita and would be happy to see it expire in a cascade of bodice-ripped flames.

"Are you all right?" cried Charlie.

"Who are you, and who has done this to you?" cried Don, who, as an upstanding Special Agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, considered it his duty to investigate this circumstance. Also, he wanted to find out her name before Charlie.

"I am Mary Sue," she sobbed tearfully, "and I have no clue as to who has done this to me, for the fiends bashed me over the skull and gave me concussion. I know this, for I am a doctor and I know these things."

"The fiends!" Charlie shouted, unable to calculate a better term for the misbehaving cads. His knowledge of the English language was as perfect as his ability to spell. "Don, you must track them down while I comfort this fair maiden in distress!"

"Hey, why me?" Don objected. "Chuck, you already got a girl. Give the rest of us a chance."

"What do you mean, 'rest of us'? Others already have girls."

"Really? Who?"

"David."

"Does not.

"Does, too."

"He thoroughly pissed off the community center worker, and they haven't dared let him try again. Next?"

"Colby! What about that reporter woman who got rescued?"

"She wouldn't give him the time of day. She walked out right past his ass without saying thank you, the cold-hearted bitch. Keep going, Charlie. You're only proving my point."

"Okay, how about Larry? He's jumping Megan's bones. Tell me that's not fiction!"

"All right, you got me there. Who else?"

"Dad."

There was silence, as each son considered the spectre of Mildred Finch as a potential step-mother. As one, they shuddered and turned back to Mary Sue.

"Let me help you," cried Charlie.

"No, let me," cried Don.

"You may both help me," Mary Sue told them, "for I am woman enough for both of you."

"But this is America," Charlie told her, "and my best-selling book has calculated that American audiences despise ménage a trois romances, especially between brothers and a Mary Sue."

Whereupon a Greek chorus of Beta Readers appeared and began to beta the story (it seemed an appropriate time for it):

Alice I said, "Get it together, guys. There isn't enough angst. Start those manly sobs flowing. Shoot somebody so that you can whine about it in a devastatingly masculine fashion."

SerialGal told them, "Move it, before I whump all three of you, and you _don't_ want to know what whumpage I have in mind!"

However, it was FraidyCat who was the true holy terror. She fixed each Eppes brother with a beady eye and snarled, "You have each started a sentence with 'and', and that is forbidden by the laws of good grammar. Professor Eppes, I realize that you have little to no proficiency in the English language but if you start another sentence with 'but' then I will release an entire flock of untutored fanfic writers upon your curly locks, and you will have those locks torn from your head in their mad frenzy."

Both Eppes men drew back in fear.

Mary Sue stood up, and her bodice slipped down a bit further. She hoisted it back up swiftly, realizing that the difference between an 'M' rating and a 'T' could mean several thousand readers. She turned to Charlie and simpered, "This is a show called Numb3rs. You must swiftly calculate the next plot point, so that you can narrate a lovely analogy that demonstrates yet another math theorem for children who really don't want to learn any more math than how many songs they can fit onto their IPods. Then you may have your way with me as a reward. In addition to being a doctor, I am also a sex therapist who has studied the Kamasutra in the original Hindi, which is something that your Amita cannot do. I will bring you even more delight than winning the Nobel Prize in math which does not exist!"

"Hmmm," said Charlie, his eyes glazing over as he tried to select the appropriate theorem. "I have it!"

"You do? That was fast." Don was not altogether pleased, since this meant that he would have to be trekking off into the woods after the bodice-ripper and away from the lovely Mary Sue.

"Yes, I do. I have used the Theodore Geisel analysis to determine Who our suspect is: a rather oddly shaped man named Horton! You must hurry off into the woods after him, Don, so that I may remain behind and seduce the lovely Mary Sue with my curly locks and my endearing smile."

"Don't forget those limpid brown eyes," SerialGal inserted from the Beta Chorus.

"How could I? They are my best feature."

"Shave first," Alice I advised. "The five o'clock shadow makes you look unkempt and distracts us from your awesome good looks."

"Look, Chuck, I have a better idea," Don said, pulling everyone back to the misbegotten plot. "You know you always want to go look at the crime scene. This would be a really good time for you to do that. It's right over there." Don pointed deep into the woods. "Go over there, and calculate which way this Horton guy went. I'll stay here and protect Mary Sue and her ripped bodice."

"That's a wonderful idea," Mary Sue bubbled, "for, in addition to being a doctor and a sex therapist, I am also a quadruple agent for the NCIS, JAG, UNCLE, and ST:TNG and Don needs to interrogate me most thoroughly to ensure the safety of the entire world." She let her ripped bodice dangle for a moment to try to distract Don from his interrogation duties before tucking it back discreetly into her demi-cut brassiere from Victoria's Secret.

Don drew Charlie aside. "Look, Chuck; I'm begging you here! I really need this! I haven't gotten any since Liz dumped me, and you at least have Amita! Let me have this one, and I swear you can have the next three good-looking guest stars, Christopher Lloyd not included."

Charlie reviewed Chapter Twelve of 'The Attraction Equation' in his head, swiftly calculating the probabilities of success in future encounters. "Make it the next three good-looking _female_ guest stars, and you have a deal. I've got my reputation to consider. You think I _liked_ getting killed off in the movie _Serenity_ before I could make a move on Inara?"

"Done!" Don exclaimed, and went to claim his prize. "Come, Mary Sue, let me show you how spacious the back of a Suburban can be. Do you think the folks at Chevy had this in mind when they paid to have me drive this monster all over southern California?"

"I don't really care," Mary Sue told him, "for in addition to being a doctor, a sex therapist, and a quadruple agent, I am also incredibly cold with my bodice hanging open, and need some hot and sweaty sex to get warm."

Don may not have been a genius, but he was smart enough to recognize an invitation when he heard one.

Charlie Eppes, however, _was_ a genius. He walked over to the Chorus of Beta Readers. "Ladies," he said, "I have just gotten rid of my brother, and I am now left alone with three astoundingly attractive and intelligent ladies who, despite not being doctors, sex therapists, or quadruple agents, are really fun to be with. It is one of the basic tenets of math that three is greater than one. Shall we go?"

"More than enough angst for me," Alice I agreed. "Fighting between brothers? Oh, the possibilities!"

"Don will have to be satisfied with the emotional whump that he gets when he realizes that he's been outsmarted by you once again," SerialGal decided. "If that's not good enough, Charlie, I'll write in a pointless car chase for you to get crunched in."

"Your previous sentence was grammatically correct despite being thirty-seven words long," FraidyCat told him. "Let's go." She grinned. "I'm a sucker for a genius who pretends that he can't spell."

Charlie smirked.


End file.
